The Price of Silence: The Words I Regret Not Saying

A story of how a single moment of silence left me with a lifelong regret—and what it taught me about faith and the courage to uplift others.

Every year, as Ramadan approaches, I am reminded of a painful experience—one that wasn’t exactly a direct interaction, but rather a moment I overheard, a verbal blow that left a lasting impact.

Many of you might know that as Ramadan begins, many women courageously start wearing the hijab. That particular year was no exception. On the first day of Ramadan, I walked into class and noticed more of my classmates wearing the hijab. It was a beautiful sight—one that filled me with inspiration and made me want to follow their example. At the time, I wasn’t a hijabi myself (may Allah forgive me), but in that moment, I felt a deep desire to wear it. I reached for the scarf around my neck, ready to place it on my head.

But then, the professor walked in.

As soon as he reached his place, his gaze swept across the room, lingering critically on the girls who had started wearing the hijab. At first, I thought maybe he, too, was feeling pleased to see this change. But then he spoke. And I will never forget his words.

The first thing he said was not a greeting, not a kind acknowledgment, but an accusation. He called out the so-called hypocrisy of the girls in the room—mocking how they suddenly became “Muslim” in Ramadan, only to abandon their hijabs afterward. He questioned their sincerity, implying that hijab was not just for one month, but for all twelve, and that they were wrong to wear it temporarily.

I sat there, frozen in shock, as my classmates turned pale. The hand I had just lifted to adjust my scarf fell back down.

And the worst part? This wasn’t coming from a non-Muslim. If it had, maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much. Maybe we could have told ourselves, they don’t understand our religion. But this was coming from a fellow Muslim—someone who should have known better.

Year after year, I remember that moment. I think about all the things I could have said, all the things I should have said. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself,

Summaya, wake up! Don’t just sit there in silence! Speak up! Tell those girls how brave they are, how they inspire you, how you are proud of them.

But I can’t go back.

So this year, as I was once again reminded of that incident, I decided to write about it. Because even if I can’t go back and tell them, I can tell you.

To every girl considering wearing the hijab this Ramadan: You are not a hypocrite.

And if we’re going to start labeling people as hypocrites just because they try to improve in Ramadan, then why stop at hijab?

Why not also call out those who stop smoking during Ramadan?
Or those who tell unnecessary white lies all year but try to control themselves in this month?
What about those who struggle to wake up for Fajr all year but set countless alarms for Tahajjud in Ramadan?
Or those who suddenly start giving to charity or increase their donations?
What about those who finally start praying?
Or those who usually lose their temper over the smallest inconvenience but make an effort to stay patient in Ramadan?

Why do we choose to focus on the negative instead of the positive?

Why not look at all of this as proof that when Shaytan is chained, people return to their fitrah—their natural state of goodness? That Ramadan reminds people of their connection to Allah?

Why not see a sister wearing the hijab and pray for her? May Allah bless her for taking this step, and may He grant her the strength to continue beyond Ramadan.

Why not see someone quit smoking and make dua for them? May Allah help them overcome their addiction for good.

Why not see someone controlling their temper and ask Allah to give them the strength to resist Shaytan’s whispers?

Why not see someone start praying and appreciate it, making dua that Allah accepts it from them and helps them remain steadfast?

Instead of focusing on others, we should focus on ourselves—our own actions, our own faith. Because on the Day of Judgment, we will stand before Allah accountable for our deeds, not anyone else’s.

Imagine standing before Allah and being told:

"Do you know that so-and-so was considering continuing the hijab after Ramadan, but your words discouraged her so much that she didn’t even keep it on during Ramadan?"

"Do you know that someone else was inspired by her and wanted to start wearing hijab too, but your mockery crushed her resolve?"

Can you bear the weight of that? Can you afford to have all those potential good deeds erased because of your careless words?

Shaytan is chained in Ramadan for a reason. That reason is not for you to take over his job.

So focus on yourself—your deeds, your faith, your journey. And leave the judgment of others to the One who truly knows what is in our hearts.